“And yet you still live, Butterfly. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. CHAPTER XXI. Expiation. You'll find me at supper.
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